I say farewell to my lost love
by lilabut
Summary: A series of Sybil/Tom centric drabbles of all kind. Happy, angsty, modern AU. Naturally, spoilers for all of series 3.
1. two

_Since this is the first thing I have published since that episode last Sunday, I feel I should say a few words. I'm deeply, deeply sad, and it feels like actual mourning way too much to be healthy. We've all lost something so truly good and wonderful with Sybil, and the only thing that really helps me is knowing that I'm not alone, and that you all feel just as sad._

_I will _not_ stop writing these two. It's my therapy, in a way. I've written two one shots in the days after the episode, and they should be posted soon. I hope to still see some of you, despite the sadness we're going through._

_The title for this was taken from a poem by Aldo Kraas.  
_

_These were prompts I got on Tumblr, and I wrote these quickly, they're mostly unedited, but, at least speaking for myself, they helped a little._

* * *

**prompt**: a happy au of the birth, in which Edith drives Sybil to the hospital

_Two_

Her eyes are closed, and Tom marvels at the paleness of her skin, so peaceful, yet so sombre. Slowly, her chest rises and falls, evenly, much like a clock set to perfection.

Readjusting his arms carefully, Tom cradles the bundle in his arms closer to his chest, their daughter resting just as peacefully as Sybil, and in this moment, Tom is utterly alone.

His fingers dance around Sybil's, flat against the cold sheet of the hospital bed, his every fibre aware of her breathing and that of their beautiful, perfect, curious child. There would be not a fragment of sleep for him tonight, not a moment to let the guard down. Not one.

It had been so utterly close, and he can still hear the mumbling and the screams and _look at the __stars_ echoing in his mind. No one had known truly what to do, and, in the end, it had been down to him to make a choice. A car rushing in the night, Sybil in his arms, her fingernails biting the skin of his hand, the cold and deserted hospital, a sleepy nurse wide-eyed in the darkened corridor. Blood, blood everywhere and screams, and finally silence. The wooden door keeping him away from her, away from _them_. Finally, another scream, a different one, so longed for. Two beating hearts, two breathing lungs.

There are tears in his eyes now when he thinks about what might have happened, what he might have lost. The miracle cradled securely in his arms, and his heart, resting now by his sight, under his watch.


	2. she

**prompt**: a modern au

_She_

She comes crashing into his life like the loud slam of the car's door as she slams it shut. Raindrops covering her thin blouse, hair wild and unruly from the wind, eyes red and swollen.

He wants to complain about her treatment of his taxi, but when he sees her, he realizes he does not really mind.

_Where to?_

_Anywhere. The future. A better place. Wherever you like._ She is staring out into the rain as it drums against the pavement, an image so sad that it twists Tom's insides.

He takes her to the edge of the city that day, and when she kisses his cheeks and whispers _thank you_ as the sun sets, he knows she is the one.

.:.

She is a lady, or so she says, and he finds it strangely amusing, whispering _milady_ against her bare stomach. There is a throaty laugh fluttering through the air, and he nudges his nose against her hipbone once more to hear it again.

.:.

She says nothing when he tells her he loves her, simply stares at him with her wide, deep eyes, and he wants to cry because there is no way anyone could be so beautiful, yet such a vault of secrets and pain and mystery.

.:.

She giggles as she fixes his one and only tie.

_They're going to hate me, you know?_

_I don't hate you. _

He finds her words only mildly reassuring, but when she sifts her fingers through his hair and kisses him softly, barely a brush of skin, he figures that it really is all that matters.

.:.

She leaves him with the slamming of the front door of their small flat, the framed, cheap reproduction of some Monet painting she had liked so much falling to the floor, glass shattering all over the scratchy wooden panels.

He simply stares at the point where she had vanished, hands uselessly by his side, and he wonders how she has slipped away from him, how the world has turned so wicked and so cruel.

.:.

She comes back when the snow begins to melt and the world awakens from the long sleep of winter.

_I love you_, she whispers against his throat for the first time, and he takes her to Ireland a week later, laughing as she breaths in the salty breeze of the sea.

_And you complained about not taking the plane._

Everything is green, and when she says _I do_ and interlaces her fingers with his, no blossom could be more beautiful and complete than the smile gracing her face.

.:.

She is sleeping in their tiny double bed, barely enough room to walk around it now that the crib is occupying so much space. Carefully calculating each step, he carries their daughter through the room, her eyes wide open, taking it all in.

Never in his life has he been this tired or exhausted, but he looks at Sybil, peaceful and resting, and their baby girl, so utterly perfect, and he knows he has been right on that rainy day in the park.

She is the one.


	3. seagulls

**prompt**: daddy Tom & grandmama Branson meeting little Sybil for the first time

_Seagulls_

_Pa, look. Birds._

_That's seagulls, Sybil._

_Seagles?_

_Seagulls._

His daughter's arms were wrapped around his neck, strands of her dark hair floating in the harsh wind of the sea – he could never quite manage the braid as well as Edith or Mary. The light blue of her dress was much softer than the cold steel of the sky, yet the slight glimpse of sunlight that shone through the clouds warmed what little was exposed of their skin.

_Are you looking forward to meeting your Granny?_

Sybil nodded, that excited, uncontrolled bouncing of her head, and she wriggled happily in his arms, a wide, toothed grin on her perfectly innocent face.

He looked at the horizon, no land in sight yet, but the prospect of finally returning home causing a shiver inside of him he has not felt in a long time.

.

He could not remember the last time he had seen his mother cry, but when she held him tightly in her arms for the first time in three years, her tears were soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

As he took Sybil's small hand and introduced her to the grandmother she had never met before, he could see his mother's effort to hide her tears. Yet, the way she looked at the bubbly young girl, he could sense she felt the same searing pain he did every time he looked at his daughter, a pain no love in the world could erase. She looked so much like her mother, so much that Tom feared the day she would grow up, the resemblance growing each day.

Would he be able to stand the pain when she stood in front of him, as if reborn from the ashes of his heart?

_Granny, we saw seagles, can you believe it?_

_Did you really, my darling?_

_They were flying!_

Probably, Tom thought, he would find a way.

* * *

_A/N: Feel free to suggest a prompt, if there is anything you would like me to write._


	4. mother

**prompt**: Tom's mother comes to Downton soon after Sybil's death

_Mother_

She can not make it in time for the funeral, and it pains Tom to think his mother even has to make this journey, but when she stands in the large hall of Downton, as unimpressed by its grandness and treasures as he used to be, he falls into her arms. Finally _falls_.

Breaks.

_Oh my darling boy_, she whispers, strongly, the way only mothers could soothe, holding him close and steady.

_Ma_, he chokes, and it does not matter in this moment that he is a grown man crying against his mother's shoulder. Nothing matters any more.

He remembers his mother's kisses on bruised knees, her arms around him next to a fireplace and a lullaby humming past her lips as sleep washed over him.

This, however, was no pain a mother's love could heal.

As he lets go, his mother's eyes are fixed on him, and he can see that she has given him up, the smiling, foolish young boy he used to be.

_Mrs Branson._

Cora walks across the room slowly, the greeting smile on her face such a stark opposite to the black of her dress that makes her look so sickly and pale.

_You Ladyship, I'm ever so sorry for your loss,_ his mother says, politely, but with as much spite as Tom knows so well from his own words.

It seems out of place, the three of them standing in the wide hall, complete silence falling over them, three people so different, united in this darkest hour.

_Thank you. And perhaps you could call me Cora_. She smiles softly and reaches out her trembling hand, and Tom wishes so, _so_ dearly for an _after_ that allows his darling Sybil to see this. Hands touching, and his mother's mask cracking as the tears begin to flow.

He wants to fall once more, barely has the strength to stand, but he knows it's not the time. It is all down to him now.


	5. lullaby

**prompt**: Sybil sings her baby to sleep

_Lullaby_

As the palm of his hand felt the cold side of the bed next to him, Tom awoke with a start, sitting upright in bed so quickly that the dark room began to spin in front of his eyes. Breathing heavily, he looked down at the side of the bed, for a second fearing his nightmares to have become reality.

Fearing that she was gone. That the screams and the blood and the life leaving her eyes had been the last he saw of the woman he loved so, _so_ dearly that his heart nearly tore at the mere thought of losing her.

Her side of the bed was not untouched, though. Deserted, yes, but ruffled, the blanket pulled back neatly. Tom allowed himself a second to catch his breath and ban those wretched memories from his mind, before he pushed himself out of bed with tired arms, eyes suddenly feeling heavy from the brutal awakening.

A soft humming lead his way, although his feet already knew by heart where to take him, and he wandered along the dimly lit corridor with a calm determination.

It was a sight he would never forget, so peaceful and complete that he barely found the strength to take it all in. Sybil, in her long white nightgown – like an angel perhaps, with her dark hair and clear eyes and adoring smile and sheer beauty – with their daughter in her arms, wee hands fumbling for their mother's touch.

There were no words, and perhaps it was not even a proper lullaby, but to Tom, it was the most beautiful sound in the world as Sybil gently, tenderly swayed their daughter to sleep.

"You're not supposed to be walking around by yourself," he whispered softly, no blame in his voice as he stepped into the room completely, taking slow steps towards his wife and child. All the memories came rushing back, the piercing screams and stains of blood, the night rushing by as they drove to the hospital, the now healing scar that Sybil already dreaded so much.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, her voice barely audible, and Tom already missed the soft hum, the gentle melody that seemed to have worked wonders. Kissing Sybil on the cheek, spread in a content smile, he looked down at the miracle in her arms, asleep and peaceful, tiny hands forming fists within the warm, white blanket.

"There's so much I want to show her, Tom."

"And we will."


	6. snowfall

**prompt**: Sybil and Tom take a sick day together when it's snowing outside (wasn't really meant to be a modern au, but it turned out to be just that)

_Snowfall_

_Sybil_, Tom muttered for the tenth time this morning, arm still outstretched from turning off the shrill, beeping noise of the alarm clock. It seemed to be his curse, having insisted on buying the larger bed, and now being stuck sleeping on the side of the bed with room for a carton-box-turned-bedside-table, and having to turn off an alarm that was not meant for him.

_No_, Sybil whined, and as Tom turned to gently poke her side with his elbow, he saw her burying her face in her cushion, hair standing wildly at all angles, covering her like a second blanket.

_You're going to be late_, he said plainly, his voice husky, and he regretted his decision to stay up late to fix the broken cabinet door in the kitchen. Who needed it to stay closed anyway?

_Go away_, Sybil muttered into the cushion, although Tom could barely understand a word. He nudged her again, knowing he would only have to take the blame later on in case she really ended up late for work. Which happened a lot.

He smiled a little as she finally scrambled out of bed, moaning and sighing, tripping over the pile of laundry by the foot of the bed. It was so like her and, despite being tired and the guy to turn of her alarm while he could be sleeping for another half hour, Tom felt every nerve ending inside of him warm a little with comfort to be here with her in this tiny, cramped flat.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Tom shivered as the cold air hit his bare chest. Perhaps he should have called their landlord about the broken heating. Again. Sybil had offered to ask her parents for help, just this once as there really seemed no point in waiting for their landlord to do something about it, but there was no way. Tom would rather fix it himself – completely ignoring the fact that a heating probably did not resemble a car in any way, shape or form.

_Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me_. Her words were a bit too loud for so early in the morning and an ancient apartment complex, and Tom – wrinkled forehead and rubbing his eyes – stumbled out of bed and towards the tiny bathroom, the door not closing properly since the draft in their flat had smashed it closed a little too brutally.

_What?_ He asked, still half asleep, fearing that the water pipes had finally given in.

_Look_, Sybil said with such a grumpy undertone to her voice that Tom nearly began to chuckle, slipping over one of his own socks on the floor. Her finger was pointing at the window – perhaps the sole luxury of their flat – and Tom immediately saw what she meant.

There, in the pale yellow glow of the street light, where thick, fluffy snowflakes dancing in the darkness, the ground already covered in an impressive layer of pristinely white snow.

_I hate winter_, Sybil muttered, and only now did Tom see the neon blue toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

_No you don't. No one hates winter._

_I do_, she replied defiantly, marking her words by spitting the toothpaste, smelling so brutally of mint that it made Tom's eyes water, back into the sink.

_Unacceptable_, he murmured, slightly distracted by her pale, long legs as she pulled off her turquoise sweat pants and threw them into a corner.

_Look_, Sybil said, once more pointing towards the window, _What's there to like about it?_

_I can show you,_ Tom suggested, leaning against the cold, tiled wall, arms crossed in front of his chest.

_How? Send me pictures of pretty snow covered mountains while I'm stuck at my desk at work all day?_

_That's not what I had in mind_, he said quietly, although the husky sound of his voice was entirely to blame on a lack of sleep. He took slow, deliberate steps towards her, and she tilted her head, eyeing him suspiciously as he approached her. Brushing his lips across the expanse of her neck, his hands came to rest against her upper arms, hoovering there every so slightly.

_You can do that in summer, you know? _She noted, although he could detect the slight hitch in her voice when his nose nudged against the underside of her ear.

_That's not quite the same_, he explained, mind drifting off to woollen blankets and fireplaces and bare skin in the glow of the flames.

_Hmm_, Sybil sighed, sounding unconvinced but her hands coming to rest against his bare chest anyway.

They had neither the blankets nor the fireplace, but Tom didn't mind as his hand slipped under her sweater and moved up the expanse of her back, free to roam, soft skin against his calloused palm.

_You know, I don't think I'm feeling very well this morning,_ he murmured against her neck, feeling her shiver as his warm breath fanned over her sensitive skin.

_Me neither,_ Sybil agreed, and Tom felt his knees buckle as her fingers trailed ever so slowly along the waistband of his boxers.

_How curious,_ he breathed, pulled back just enough to look into her still clouded eyes.

_Yeah, how very curious,_ she repeated with a mischievous grin, and Tom knew that despite the quick call at work, there would be no contact to the outside world today, even if the storm should claim it all.


End file.
